


At the Giant's Ringdance

by RhysLahey



Series: Scisaac short fics [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Almost-arthurian, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dark Ages, Early medieval geekiness, Established Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, M/M, Scisaac Week 2020, Stonehenge - Freeform, unexpected plot twist at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhysLahey/pseuds/RhysLahey
Summary: Scott and Isaac work for two different Saxon earls, but when Scott fails to appear at their usual meeting place, Isaac is forced to go and find him, leaving no stone unturned, ready to risk his life if necessary.
Relationships: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall
Series: Scisaac short fics [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960519
Comments: 19
Kudos: 14
Collections: Scisaac Week





	At the Giant's Ringdance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name/gifts).



> For Scisaac Week 2020: Day 7, any AU
> 
> For the glossary of place names (and my own nerdy historical addendum), see the end note.
> 
> And this is for i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name, who even if he has seen it already, it's the least I could do to thank all his help!

Isaac was waiting at the steps of the old Roman building, patiently picking his nails. He was wearing sturdy grey trousers with a long-sleeved, quilted, yellow tunic and a chequered green and red cloak fastened with a brooch decorated with complex, interlocked spiralling patterns. He wore a long Roman dagger hanging from his belt that marked him out as a free man, but he also carried a throwing axe that told everyone he was a warrior. His blond hair was clipped short and his beard shaven, in the way of both the Romans and his fellow Britons.

He was sitting on the hard mortar steps of the largest building of Dorcic, a walled Roman town along the Thames. The marble steps had long ago been removed, and the forum square was now covered with market stalls and pig pens, but the large building still towered above the rest. Of course, it was no longer the seat of the council (like it was the case back in his hometown of Moriddyn, where his father and grandfather had been magistrates), because it had been turned into the dwelling of Derek of the Gewisse, self-proclaimed ‘Earl of Dorceceaster’ in his guttural barbaric tongue.

The Gewisse were one of the many bands of Saxon brigands that had landed in Britain soon after the Emperors withdrew the legions, in the time of his grandfather, abandoning both Britons and provincials to their own devices. The Saxons had taken most of the eastern lands, including the main city of Lundein, but they constantly raided the western lands. It was during one of these raids that Isaac was captured by the Saxons. Thankfully, Derek had seen him fight in battle and, upon extracting from him an oath of loyalty, freed him and trained him to become a warrior.

Isaac had very mixed feelings about Derek.

“Come on in,” a deep voice called from behind him in Latin, and Isaac stood up and fixed his cloak. The man who was calling for him was Boyd, also a former captive-turned-warrior by Derek, although Boyd had been brought up as a Roman near the Wall, so he still thought of Isaac as an untamed Barbarian, only slightly better than their pagan master. “Derek will see you now.”

The two men walked into the hall, where the floor mosaics had long ago been covered with soil and where large fires crackled where once books and archives were kept.

“My lord Theodric?” Isaac saluted using Derek’s full name. Derek and his people were invading barbarians, so it came as no surprise that they had adopted some nasty Roman practices, like being addressed as ‘lord’. If only they had taken up more positive things, like bathing…

“Ah, Isaac, great to see you,” Derek said with a smile. He was sat on what passed for a throne. He was wearing a delicate, deep-red tunic and fine, hunting trousers. His cloak was light blue and had silver embroidered patterns of wolves and dragons. Other than the heavy, jewelled gold brooches on his chest, Derek clearly displayed his power by constantly carrying a sword. “I hope you are keeping well?”

“I can’t complain,” Isaac said with a smirk, knowing that Derek would not notice his double meaning.

“Good, good. Today is the day when you go and see Peter, right?”

Peter was Derek’s uncle, and he ruled to the south, from the larger Roman town of Gwinntguic, and Isaac acted as the messenger between the two twice every moon.

“It is, my lord.”

“Here, take this,” Derek lobbed him something wrapped in a rabbit’s skin. “You will take this to my dearest uncle.”

“What is it?” Isaac asked, holding the skin-clad, heavy and clearly metallic object in his hands.

“You may look at it,” Derek instructed, and Isaac did so. Under the pelt there was a silver disc with a complex design in bas-relief. It was a spiral. Isaac was not a scribe, but he had originally been prepared to become a magistrate one day, so he knew how to read and write. Why Derek and his barbarian goons had never taken it up was a mystery to him.

“What does it mean? Is it a present?” Isaac arched an eyebrow. Derek’s relation with his uncle had been tense ever since Talia, the warrior queen of the Gewisse, had died in a skirmish against the Jutes.

“It’s a message,” Derek said as he stood up and walked to pour himself a tankard of mead. “He’ll understand.”

**Π Π * Π** **Π**

Isaac loaded his horse with rations for a couple of days, an extra travelling cloak, his buckler and a handful of javelins. He checked that his round iron helmet was still in his saddle bag and, with a big smile plastered on his face, rode off through the south gate and onto the main road.

Derek had made him his trusted courier for any Peter-related business a few months ago, after the death of Talia and the great falling out between the two heirs of the Gewisse. During that time, Peter had also appointed one of his servants as his designated envoy, and rather than covering the long distance between Gwinntguic and Dorcic, Derek and Peter had agreed that their envoys should always meet in Celemion (or, as the locals called it, Calleva), a strong and neutral town still ruled by the local Romans, situated in between the two Saxon strongholds.

Peter’s envoy happened to be a Roman boy his age called Scott.

Scott was not his real name, of course, but it was what the Saxons called him because he had been bought off a band of Scoti raiders from the island of Iwerddon. He had a breathing illness, and for that he would never become a warrior, but Scott had been fully educated in his family’s estate, and was an expert in grammar and rhetoric, could write verses in Greek and Latin, and could also speak Brittonic and Aenglisc. In fact, he became so proficient in the barbarous language of his masters, that Peter’s men spoke very carefully around him in case they spoke incorrectly in their own language.

When Isaac first met Scott he made an effort to cause a good impression, because even at such low level, he was a diplomat, and he did not want to incur Derek’s wrath by affronting his uncle, but the Briton had never imagined that he would fall hard there and then for the Roman. Scott was slightly shorter than him, and he had the darker hair and tanner skin of his countrymen. Isaac was immediately smitten by his warm brown eyes, and Scott had immediately liked his quick wit. After two days of discussing what their masters wanted, their cautious getting to know each other turned into shameless flirting, which inevitably led to frolicking in the haystacks of the tavern.

It was that first morning they woke up together in each other’s arms that Isaac noticed the two dark bands across Scott’s arms. Scott at first refused to explain what they were, but after some encouraging soft words and no small amount of kissing, Scott confessed. A few years ago, when he was taken from his family, his captors branded him with hot irons around his arm; two dark bands that Scott was ashamed of, but Isaac pulled Scott into a hug and kissed his head and caressed his branded arm, reassuring him and swearing that he would forever keep him safe.

By the end of the day, Isaac reached the walls of Celemion, and he went straight to his usual tavern. The landlord knew of Isaac’s regular visits, and he always had a room for him and Scott ready, although this had been mostly because of Scott’s diplomatic skills (Isaac had been very ready to threaten the innkeeper, much like the Saxon thugs that Derek counted amongst his kin would have done). The main hall was smoky and stuffy, but Isaac did not mind because the smoke of the fire masked the smell of the other travellers. Isaac waited until the landlord put the fire out for the night before going to sleep, only slightly worried that Scott had not arrived yet. When he was still nowhere to be seen by noon, Isaac’s worry turned into anxiety, and by the evening into unexpected panic. The Roman road was safe as far as he knew; there had been no sights of bears in that region for generations, and even wolves were scarce, but there were always bands of Jutes and Angles coming from the East, despite Peter’s and Derek’s best efforts, and that scared Isaac. Peter was very strict with his dealings with Derek, and would never let their meetings pass. Was Scott dead in a ditch?

By the first lights of the second day Scott was still not there. Isaac had a quick wash with cold water to calm his nerves, and forced himself to eat something, but by mid-morning the Briton settled his tab with the landlord and saddled his horse.

**Π Π * Π** **Π**

Isaac had only been to Gwinntguic (or, as the Saxons now called it, Wintanceaster, which in Isaac’s opinion was an unspeakable mouthful) once, but he had a good memory for places, and he knew the way, and most Roman milestones were still standing anyways. The Briton kept his eyes open for any traces of bandit violence on the road, praying to all the saints that there would not be a splatter of blood and a dead body thrown in a ditch.

By late afternoon he could see the once white-washed city walls of Gwinntguic. Above the city gate the old Roman inscription had been defaced and chiselled, so that Isaac could only make a few letters, but what really drew his attention was the large black and red banner of Peter flying above it. Two rather unfriendly Saxon warriors were posted at the gate, but other than their usual threats and unsavoury comments about Britons in general, they let him through.

Gwinntguic was much bigger than Dorcic, and there were more brick and stone buildings. It was not difficult for him to locate the main road that led him to the forum. Just as in Dorcic, the brick-arched basilica had been turned into the hall of Peter of the Gewisse. He assumed a Christian name when he took over the city, as a gesture towards the locals, but the blood-soaked post that stood in the middle of the square was a real reflection of his pagan ways. Or at least Isaac hope it was one of their gruesome Saxon sacrifices and not something else…

“I come to see your lord, Peter,” Isaac said as he walked to the entrance of the hall. “I bring a message from his cousin, earl Derek of Dorcecaester.”

The spearman that was blocking his way looked at him carefully before letting him in, not without taking his weapons from him first. Inside, the hall was lavishly painted in bright colours, and the high windows were still paned with glass.

“Lord Peter,” Isaac announced himself. “I am Isaac, son of Dafydd, and I bring a message from—”

“So, you’re the spy that my dearest nephew has used to undermine the loyalty of my men?” Peter asked.

As opposed to Derek, Peter had been quick to take up Roman fashion: he had his beard cleanly shaven and wore the kind of multi-coloured and bejewelled tunic with the thick embroidered central band that the wealthiest landowners favoured. Had it not been for the long, one-edged Saxon blade he wore on his belt and the spears and shields displayed behind him, the Briton might have thought he was meeting a bishop.

Of course, Isaac did not have much time to dwell on that, because he had just been accused of being a spy. There was always a degree of spying when it came to diplomacy, but his most covert deed had been getting into Scott’s bed.

“You’re mistaken, my lord? I am just a messenger,” Isaac was quick to produce the silver disc that Derek had given him. “Lord Derek wanted me to send you this as a present.” Isaac bit his tongue before he mentioned Scott. Peter obviously knew how his dealings with Derek worked, and if he was not surprised by the fact that it was Isaac and not Scott that was bringing this back, it probably meant that the blond had just walked into whatever game Peter was playing.

Peter nodded at one of his sword-wielding companions to snatch the rabbit pelt from Isaac, and the Saxon brought it back to his master. Throwing the skin away, Peter smirked as he looked at the silver disc.

“Do you know what this is, spy?”

“It’s a token of Derek’s—”

“This is our mark for vendetta. This is a declaration of _war_ ,” Peter interrupted flatly. As he said this, two men came up from behind Isaac and clasped their hands on his shoulders and hit him in the back of his leg, forcing him to kneel. “You dare come into my house to declare war?” the Saxon grinned.

Before Isaac could explain himself, a large fist connected with his face.

“I knew you had been conniving with Scott, subverting him, gathering information for Derek,” Peter said as one of his soldiers punched Isaac in the gut.

“Where is Scott?” Isaac asked through his pain and a bleeding nose, his mind racing trying to think about what could have happened to Scott.

“That treacherous Greek lover of yours is being dealt with,” Peter scoffed, making Isaac’s blood boil and bile climb up to his mouth. Most priests disapproved of the way Scott and Isaac loved each other, but these dirty Germans actively despised them. He tried to wriggle off the soldiers, but he was just punched again, and he fell flat on the flagstones.

“Take him down,” Peter said with a wave of his hand. Behind him more soldiers poured in, battle ready. “We still need him to take a message to my nephew.”

Isaac tried to push himself up, but something hard hit him in the back of the head, and everything went dark for a second. Soon enough he was dragged by his shoulders, his knees scraping the floor. By the time he was fully aware of his surroundings, the guards still held him, but he feigned that he was still half-out and waited for his chance.

The guards took him down to a vaulted cellar, part storage room, part dungeon, which stank of rotting wine and other rubbish. They dropped him on the floor while one of them opened the door to a barred cell. Isaac pretended to moan, and the second guard gave him a kick, so Isaac stopped and rolled until he was lying face down. The first guard grabbed Isaac by the arms and dragged him into the cell, but just as they were crossing the threshold, Isaac attacked.

Isaac took advantage of the guard’s position to stand on his knees and head butt the Saxon right in the nose, which broke with a splashing sound. He wrapped his arms around the guard’s waist and, while the man instinctively brought his hands to his face, ran forward, pushing the guard with his shoulder until they hit the concrete wall behind. The second guard took two seconds to react, which was all the time Isaac needed. Still inside the cell, he waited for the second Saxon to barge in, only to dodge his blind charge and deflect his dagger into his companion’s gut. 

Without losing the advantage, Isaac threw his arm around the Saxon’s neck and pressed hard, but the guard still had some fight in him. He pushed back, throwing Isaac into the iron bars. Isaac had to relax his grip, and the Saxon prepared himself to smash Isaac against the bars again, but the Briton saw this coming. With a deft movement and a well-timed knee into the guard’s calf, Isaac forced the Saxon to spin on himself and, using his own momentum against him, smashed the guard’s face into the iron bars. Isaac grabbed him by the hair and hit the guard’s head against the bar once again before focusing all his strength on choking the Saxon, who died with a quiet gurgle.

**Π Π * Π** **Π**

Scott woke up. He was still chained to the post in the back of the pigsty where he had spent the last two days, eating whatever leftover cabbages and apples he managed to save from the pigs. But he was _so_ thirsty that he feared he would soon begin to hallucinate. Dry blood had caked on his tunic, but at least he now could open his left eye. His ribs still hurt, though, because Peter had made sure to punish him himself, and when he got tired of using the belt he decided to get his hands dirty.

“You let yourself be lured into bed by my nephew’s spy?” Peter had said. “I save you from those Irland pirates, give you a roof over your head, feed you and _trust_ you, and this is how you repay me?”

The Roman tried to explain that he did not know what Peter was talking about. He had never disclosed any secret information to Isaac, and he had done his best to appease Derek when he had demanded retribution. Had Isaac transmitted something else to his lord that had caused Peter’s rage? No, Scott could not believe that. He trusted Isaac. He loved him, and Isaac loved him back.

Something else must have happened for Peter to react like this right on the morning when he was meant to go and meet Isaac. Scott may not have been the chief scribe of Venta, but he worked in the scriptorium and new of the many comings and goings of Peter’s messengers, and he had not noticed anything beyond the ordinary. Of course, Scott was not foolish enough to believe that Peter had no other informants and agents working for him. Perhaps one of Peter’s sworn Saxons had been following him?

No matter how much Scott begged and implored, Peter had not stopped.

Scott could not believe that his days would end up there, in a dirty midden. Long gone were the days of his childhood, growing up in the villa of the Delicati, his mother’s family, learning arithmetic, rhetoric and Greek. Back then he never could have guessed it were precisely those skills that would save his life when those pirates from across the sea torched his home and killed his family. He had never had the inclination to become a warrior, and had hated hunting with a passion, but he had hoped that one day he might have gone to Gaul to learn medicine. He might have even visited Rome and Ravenna. Instead, he became a slave boy beyond the Wall, and was later sold to Peter before the death of Queen Talia.

One of the pigs came over to where he was sitting and made himself comfortable by Scott’s side. With a bitter smile Scott petted it, seeing that this pig was going to be his last friend in this world.

“You should get away from here while you can,” he said with a hoarse voice. “You can do better than half-rotten cabbages and apple cores. There is an entire world outside this city where you could feast on acorns.”

The pig shook his head and oinked.

“Well, don’t you say I didn’t warn you!”

At that point, a loud noise came from the town centre. There was the battering of drums and the cheering of men, all accompanied by the unmistakable tune of the Saxon war horns. Scott had heard that cacophony before, just before Queen Talia marched off to war. Was Peter marching on Calleva? Or perhaps he was going further north, against Derek? That could not be. He could not be doing this. What about Isaac? Scott began to panic – he did not want Isaac to go to war! Scott tried to pull his chain without any success.

“Isaac…” Scott gritted his teeth, cursing his luck. If only he had a way of warning Isaac so he could get away before the battle…

One of Peter’s chosen warriors walked by, and Scott tried to hide from him, seeing that the last time one of them had pushed him into the muck. Chained as he was, however, there was little he could do. This time the Saxon simply spat at him and jabbed a couple of insults about Christians and about sleeping with boys at him, so he counted himself lucky.

Of course, what Scott had never expected was for that Saxon to land flat on his back in the muck of the pigsty with his hands on his throat failing to contain a torrent of blood a few seconds later.

“There you are!”

Scott did not recognise the voice at first, but when he turned around he saw a very familiar face, although he was not sure if the thirst was affecting him already, because there was no reason why he should be there.

“Isaac? What are you doing here? And look at your tunic! You’re covered in blood?”

But Isaac did not give him a chance to keep talking, because he just jumped over the fence and pulled him in for a kiss. If this was a hallucination, at least it was one that felt very good. Scott pulled away for an instant and rubbed his eyes.

“Who has done this to you?” Isaac demanded, his voice cold as steel. “Is it Peter?”

“Isaac, you’re covered in blood…”

“Most of it is not mine,” Isaac dismissed Scott’s concerns. “Tell me – was it Peter? Because I swear on—”

“Isaac,” Scott hissed insistently, “what are you doing here?”

“Yeah, well, I’m very glad to see you too, handsome, but you didn’t turn up!” the warrior nearly shouted, suddenly venting his frustration, but not wanting to get angry at Scott. “I was scared to _death_. I did not know if you were dead in a ditch, and when I come here looking for you Peter accuses me of being a spy, and then I couldn’t begin to imagine what he might have done to you!”

Scott threw himself into Isaac’s arms to calm him down.

“Peter is marching to war,” Scott told him, in case he did not know.

“Yes, apparently I brought a weird barbarian declaration of war with me. Somehow Peter already knew about it.”

“We need to get out of here. Go to Derek,” Scott thought. “We need to warn him.”

“Warn him?” Isaac scoffed. “Why? He knew this was coming. He sent me knowing that I’d be the one declaring war. Let the Saxons sort their own quarrels. I’m getting you out of here.”

“Did you say Peter accused you of spying?” Scott said, slowly catching up with all that Isaac had said and suddenly realising the implications. There was no reason why Isaac should be alive right now.

“Yeah… I might have escaped from his guards.”

“Are they _dead_?” Scott asked in a tone which clearly implied that he already knew the answer, especially seeing the dead Saxon lying flat by his side. Isaac did not bother to comment as he searched the guard’s body for something to pry the chain open. “Isaac the entire warband of the Gewisse is here, how are you planning on getting us out alive?”

“That part of the plan was never very clear,” the blond said as he took an axe and whacked the post. Scott rolled his eyes.

“Peter is bound to find out about your escape. _Our_ escape.”

“That’s why we need to leave _now_ ,” Isaac scared the pig away as he tried to lever one of the links open.

“No,” Scott suddenly put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, and his lover turned around.

“What do you mean no?” Isaac stopped for a second to look at Scott with puzzled anger.

“We need to leave at night.”

**Π Π * Π** **Π**

The moon was almost full and half-way up in the sky. After leaving the pigsty, Scott took them to the ruined remains of what had once been a bathhouse. This had not been a hot spring, like the one at Caerfaddon, but rather a series of pools under a concrete vault with water reservoirs and underground furnaces. The villagers that came into Venta thought it was cursed by pagan demons (and Isaac had been reticent at first too), but Scott knew better. He had had marble statues in the bath of his villa, and he knew they hid no evil spirits. They hid there knowing that few people would come looking for them, and it even gave them a chance to wash the muck and the blood off of them with the water that naturally sprang from the ground.

“We should go now,” Scott said in a low voice and squeezing Isaac’s hand, gently waking him up.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home to get your stuff?”

“It’ll be too dangerous,” Scott said. “The Saxons are too superstitious to come in here unless Peter orders them directly, but they will still be looking for us. Best if we just make our escape.”

Isaac nodded and pulled Scott in for a quick kiss before picking up the weapons he had taken from the guard.

Scott would have preferred a darker night, or even a cloudier night, but they were not in a position to be picky, so they scrambled out of the ruins, silently cursing as they walked through the thicket of nettles that had hid them from view, and scampered into the streets. Scott was sad to leave Venta behind, the town that had been his home for the past years, but he was glad to escape Peter’s clutches. Terrified as he was about the future, though, at least he was with Isaac, and Isaac had a plan.

“We need to take this street downhill to the ramparts. Then we take a left until we see the collapsed section. We should be able to escape through there—”

“Wait,” Isaac pulled Scott’s sleeve.

“ _What_?”

Isaac scooted forward until he was close enough to kiss him. “I love you, Scott. Whatever happens tonight, always remember that,” and without giving the Roman a chance to say anything else, the warrior dashed into the moonlit street.

The streets of Venta were straight, or had been straight originally, because now people had expanded their shopfronts onto the path, so rather than broad streets they were becoming narrow lanes, but it was still easy enough to navigate. There were a couple of places where Isaac had to push Scott against a wall, and hush him quiet because he caught the glimpse of a torch-carrying guard around a corner, but other than that, they only encountered a few stray cats and a small family of badgers going through a rubbish dump.

After a few minutes the two young men reached the street that separated the houses from the ramparts. There were more guards there, but they were mostly looking out. Scott suggested they took a back street until they got close enough to the damaged section of the defences, which worked well for them at least until they reached the gap in the walls. Or, at least, the place where there had been a gap in the walls.

“Hell,” Scott cursed. There had been a section of the Roman ramparts that had collapsed during the heavy autumn rains and had been left unrepaired, but it seemed that in the days that Scott had been captive Peter had had his men work on it, so that now there were timber frames and heaps of soil. “He must have been planning to wage war on Derek for a while.”

“Yeah, I think it’s fair to say that neither of Talia’s heirs play fair…” Isaac offered helpfully, but Scott did not appreciate it.

“What are we going to do?”

“We still leave through that gap,” Isaac pointed at the construction site. “We run as far as we can and hide until we can head west.”

“Why west?”

“I’m taking you home,” Isaac said with a grin and no small amount of pride.

Without waiting for Scott to reply, Isaac crossed the street and began to climb the scaffolding as quietly as he could until he reached a spot behind a heap of earth that covered him from the moonlight, and then signalled Scott to follow. Scott gritted his teeth as he walked away from the shadows to climb the ladders. Isaac was waiting for him at the top, and pulled him to his hiding place. Scott had to stop for a moment to calm his breathing down, which is when Isaac spotted a guard with a torch walking down their way.

“I’ll be back in a second,” he said with his eyes fixed on his target.

“Wait- Isaac!”

Isaac shushed him down and went to climb to the next level, but his footing gave way, causing a small cascade of gravel and soil to fall down the slope of the rampart. The Saxon turned around to inspect the building site while Isaac flattened himself against the dirt. As the guard approached, Isaac readied himself, jumping forward just before the soldier could see him.

Scott saw the two of them fighting in slow motion. The Saxon, taken by surprise, dropped his torch and his spear became useless in such close quarters, but Isaac was not in the best fighting position, despite the dagger in his hand. The struggle was soon over when Isaac plunged his blade repeatedly into the other man’s gut.

“Scott, run!” Isaac instructed as he picked up the spear and threw the body over the parapet.

The flickering of torches elsewhere on the walls quickly approaching them told them that their skirmish had not passed unnoticed.

“But—”

“Scott, get away from here _now_!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Hold them while you get to safety.”

Scott lost no time and was soon on his feet, only rather than running away from the city, he climbed up to Isaac.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Isaac said, his eyes full of fear from seeing Scott there.

“Do you trust me?”

“This is not the best moment for—”

“Do you _trust_ me?” Scott asked again, looking eerily calm for someone about to be surrounded by people who wanted him dead.

“What? Yes, Scott. Of _course_ , I trust you,” Isaac said with slight panic. “But I don’t see what—”

The voices of alarm of the Saxon guards could now be heard clearly, ordering them to stop and to give themselves up.

“Then trust me with this and follow,” he offered with a mysterious smile before stepping over the parapet and jumping into the outside of the walls.

“SCOTT!!”

**Π Π * Π** **Π**

Scott had a smug grin on his face as the sun rose above the tree line while Isaac tried to contain his rage.

“Don’t you ever do this again,” he growled in his native Brittonic, too angry to think in Latin and clearly debating whether he should punch Scott or kiss him with all his passion.

“Isaac—”

“You jumped off the city walls into the darkness. I thought you were _dead_!” Isaac bellowed furiously but with tears of fear in his eyes.

“But I’m not. And I thought you said you trusted me.”

“And I do! But seeing the man I love jump off a wall really stretched the limits of my trust!”

“You jumped after me, that’s all that matters,” Scott advanced slowly and dared put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. The Briton did not shrug it off, and visibly calmed down. “We’re safe now.”

The city walls had been built by the Romans when they first landed in Britain, but they had not been needed for military purposes for over four hundred years. The inhabitants of Venta, including Scott, had taken the habit of dumping their rubbish outside the city wall, slowly filling the ditch that had surrounded the ramparts, until it formed a low heap easily reachable from the parapet.

From there, Scott had led Isaac to the fields outside the city, hiding in thorn-covered ditches and behind hedges when Peter’s men came out with horses looking for them. By sunrise they had reached a farmstead beyond the line of sight of the walls, where they hid behind one of the hedges.

“So when you said you’re taking me home…?”

“We’re going to Dyfed. My brother still lives in Moridynn.”

Scott nodded in silence, and let Isaac pull him for a hug. It made sense in a way to go there. Demetia was probably the furthest they could get away from the Gewisse and all other Saxon tribes without crossing the Wall. Besides, Scott’s family home in the lowlands had been razed to the ground and he had no living relatives, which made the decision easier.

“Who’s there?” a hoarse voice in a rustic accent asked from behind the bush. Isaac was ready to unsheathe his dagger, but Scott put a hand over his and stopped him.

“Theodore, please, it’s just me,” Scott said as he stood up with his hands in the air.

“Scott?” the farmer, whom Scott apparently knew, asked lowering his pitchfork. “I saw the sheep running away from this corner and I had to come and have a look. There’ve been wolves around recently… And who’s the pagan there?”

“Who are you calling a pagan?” Isaac stepped forward and squared his shoulders, looking down at the shorter Roman farmer, ready to fight him, but Scott stopped him.

“He’s not a Saxon, he’s a Britton. Peter has gone to war and we are, erm… trying to avoid him?” Scott said in his most diplomatic way.

Theo looked at them with care for a couple of seconds before leading them back into the house.

“No need for you to hide out here when you can be comfortable indoors.”

Theo’s wife, Lydia, ushered them in and gave them some leftover stew. Scott told Isaac how he and Theo worked together for Peter during the harvest, gathering the tribute that Peter confiscated for his men.

“The Romans took taxes, my grandfather said,” Theo moaned. “But these Saxons don’t care for coins. They want our crops for their lazy warriors.”

Isaac tensed, seeing that he had been one of these lazy warriors, but he could read the room, and getting in a fight with a peasant was not what they needed right now.

During the rest of the day they helped Lydia in the house and in the farm while Theo went into town to find out more about Peter’s plans. Scott was surprised to see how cultured and learned Lydia was, especially considering that she had married a farmer, but apparently her family had been ruined by Saxon raids, and this was the most convenient marriage her mother could arrange for her. Theo at least owned his land – most other locals had become tenants of the Saxons.

Theo returned home with news by the time of their evening meal. Peter had indeed marched against Derek. A silver disc of revenge had been nailed on top of the pagan pole on the forum, it seemed, but apparently all the warriors had marched north.

“Whatever grudge Peter had against you, he feels that his vendetta with his nephew is more important,” Theo smiled as he had a spoonful of stew. “I think you can relax tonight, just in case, and then leave in the morning if you wish?”

“Great!” Scott smiled as he took a sip of the cloudy, but strong cider and toasted to their host. It was then that he noticed Theo’s cloak and his new brass and garnet brooch. “ _That’s a great cider_ ,” he said to Isaac, casually practicing his Brittonic.

“ _It is,_ ” Isaac replied in the same language but with a quizzical look at Scott.

“I thought your friend spoke Latin?” Theo asked Scott, suddenly puzzled. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, nothing. Just praising the cider. It’s really good,” Scott insisted with a smile, although Isaac suspected there was something fishy.

“Yeah,” Theo smirked again, taking a long sip himself. “Very proud of it. The secret is in the mix of apple types.”

Soon after Theo and Lydia took Isaac and Scott to the byre, where they could stay warm for the night.

“ _What was that about the cider?_ ” Isaac asked in his language, sensing that it was important, but Scott shook his head.

“ _The brooch that Theo was wearing on his cloak_ ,” the Roman explained. “ _He was not wearing it earlier_.”

“ _He went into town. He bought a brooch. So_?”

“ _That’s not a brooch you can buy_ ,” Scott said in a hushed tone as he pushed the hay around. “ _That’s a token of loyalty. That’s a present from Peter. He hands them out—_ ”

“ _To his sworn warriors_ ,” Isaac concluded the sentence. “ _Derek does the same, but he hands rings and swords._ ”

Scott nodded in silence, and Isaac did not need to speak anymore to know that they had been sold out to the Saxons. Everything made sense now, and speaking in Brittonic was probably the only chance they had to be secretive about this.

“ _They’re coming tonight?_ ” Isaac whispered. Scott nodded.

“ _They’re probably surrounding us and waiting until we’re asleep_.”

The two men stood still, but they could not hear any sounds from outside the byre.

“ _I’m going to torch this place_ ,” Isaac swore through gritted teeth. “ _I want you on that horse ready to bolt through the door while I torch this farm—_ ”

“ _Not again with that. You’re going to be on that horse with me_ ,” Scott held the blond warrior’s hands. “ _We’ll get out of this together_.”

But Scott and Isaac did not have much more time to discuss their plan, because from outside the cowshed they heard the unmistakable noise of clinking chainmail.

“ _Very slowly_ ,” Isaac instructed in a calm voice, as if they were not discussing life or death escape plans, “ _you are going to get on that horse. I will torch that haystack and lift the bolt—_ ”

“ _Isaac_ …”

“ _Listen!_ ” Isaac insisted trying to look through the planks of the byre inconspicuously. “ _When the hay lights up the Saxons will barge in. You have to be ready to get on that horse and rein it until I can jump on it, you hear me?_ ”

“ _Yes_.”

“ _Whatever happens after this, you know I love you, right?_ ”

Scott pulled him for a kiss, and Isaac drew out his dagger.

**Π Π * Π** **Π**

The eastern sky was turning a pale hue of blue when the horse finally gave up. Scott was not the most experienced of riders, but he knew when it was pointless to keep flogging a horse. The beast sat down and threw its human cargo on the floor. Scott was quick to stand up again to make sure that Isaac was alright.

“Hey, Isaac?”

“Where are we?” Isaac spoke with a pasty voice, and clearly trying to fight off the pain.

“We’ve left Peter’s kingdom behind,” Scott said, and for the first time he had time to assess Isaac’s wounds. A dark Saxon arrow was firmly lodged in his shoulder, and he had a nasty cut on his leg. Scott thanked the saints because his beloved was not coughing blood.

Isaac had no time to set the byre on fire, because the Saxon soldiers broke the door in and immediately tried to kill them. While Isaac fought off the soldiers in the narrow shed, Theo walked in and threatened Scott with a spear, gloating about how he was going to become Peter’s right hand now. And Scott might not have been a warrior, but he was not helpless, and he used his ragged cloak to wrap Theo’s spear, yanking it off his hands and pushing him until he tripped and fell back, hitting his head against a milking stool. Theo’s body went limp, and Scott had only enough time to lift the bar of the byre’s gate and drag Isaac away from the close-quarter fight with the Saxon. The two of them managed to escape on the horse, but the Saxons had bows, and rained arrows on them.

“Isaac, wake up, we need to keep moving,” Scott insisted, because it was not only from Peter’s soldiers that they had been fleeing. For the last few miles, Scott was certain that they had been running away from wolves.

“I don’t think I can keep going, handsome,” Isaac tried to smile. He was paler than usual, and that scared Scott.

“Well, we can’t rest here. Not yet.”

“I need you to take my cloak,” Isaac suddenly said.

“Why your cloak?”

“It has my family’s colours. When you get home, you look for my brother, and show it to him, and—”

“You can show him yourself, Isaac,” Scott lifted Isaac and tried to walk them out of the woods.

“You better leave me here—”

“I’m _not_ leaving you behind. I thought you might have learnt that already,” Scott insisted. He had never been surer of anything in his life. The wolves howled around them. The moon, still full and silver, was gleaming up in the sky. They were getting closer. “There’s a clearing up ahead.”

“Scott, they’re coming for me. Leave me here.”

“You’re coming with me, Isaac.”

Scott tripped, and the two of them fell into a ditch that marked the limit of the forest. Or, rather, it was a ditch that marked the limit of the clearing. At the very centre, Scott could see some large standing stones. Isaac groaned in pain, but Scott pulled him out of the ditch, until they were flat on the grass. Behind them, quick shadows darted through the undergrowth, growling menacingly.

“Look,” Scott suddenly whispered in awe. “That’s the Giants’ Ringdance.”

Isaac let out a hysteric laugh, and he balled his fist on Scott’s tunic, pulling him in for one needy kiss and he sensed the other man’s lips curl into a smile as he did so. They might have been about to die, mauled by wolves and hunted down by Saxons, but Scott still had time to take them to the forbidden altars of the druids, the Côr y Cewri. The Giants’ Ringdance had been standing there for generations before the Romans arrived, but old wives told that the temple of stone gates was where the giants of old came to dance at night.

“Don’t be a stubborn mule and let me save your sorry arse!” Scott groaned as he pulled Isaac up. The Briton was much heavier than what he seemed, and it took a considerable effort.

“Scott, down!” Isaac shouted just before a large grey wolf jumped at them. The animal missed by a few inches. “Now _run_! Run towards the stones!”

Scott turned to look at Isaac, who had lobbed his throwing axe at one of the wolves, but more were coming their way.

“I’m right behind you, but get to the stones!” Isaac insisted, but Scott came back, threw an arm around his shoulders, and helped him run.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I leave you behind,” he said as he gasped for air.

The wolves kept circling them, some of them yapping at their heels. Isaac made wide arches with his dagger that kept them at bay, but never for long. Isaac and Scott kept moving towards the stone circle, until Scott collapsed on the floor.

“Scott? Scott!!”

But Scott could not speak. He was running out of breath, and was taking his hands to his throat, gasping. Isaac knew about Scott’s illness, and he knew it afflicted him when he exerted himself too much, but right now was not the moment to fall on the floor.

The sky began to turn purple, and two wolves began to circle around them now that Scott was on his knees. Isaac stood tall protectively.

“Stay away from him,” the blond threatened with his dagger, as if the wolves could understand him. Right then, one of the animals jumped at him, and Isaac gutted him with his steel in one swift movement, but not before the beast managed to bite his lower arm.

The whimpering wolf scurried away, bleeding as he fled and eventually collapsing a few yards away. Scott still could not breathe properly, and Isaac was beginning to panic, because he had failed his promise. He had failed Scott. Still pointing his dagger at the other wolf, Isaac struggled to pull Scott away from the animals, and closer to the stones. He knew that the stones at least would protect them from a rear attack, but there was something else – something mystic about the stones that seemed to call him.

“Scott! Please, please, Scott stay with me,” Isaac cried as he pulled Scott with him towards the circle. Scott put a trembling hand on Isaac’s wrist and squeezed.

Weak as that sign was, it was all the strength Isaac needed to keep fighting.

The second wolf came again, this time knocking Isaac on his back and scratching Scott with his claws, but Isaac rolled over and stabbed the creature with his weapon. The blade got stuck in the pelt and, when the wolf ran away, whining in pain, he took the dagger with him.

“Shit!”

Isaac kept dragging Scott away from the forest, toward the Giants’ Ringdance. A hidden instinct was calling him. Scott whimpered and wheezed as he took a painful lungful of air, and then Isaac hit his back against a large, cold, and grey stone.

In front of him, towards the west (towards his home), the large round moon sunk in the horizon, large as a cart’s wheel, and brighter than it should be at that time in the morning. Behind him, as he could tell from the growing shadows and the orange light, the sun was just rising. It was at that precise moment that the leader of the wolves, a huge black and brown specimen almost as tall as Scott, came to stand in front of him with glowing red eyes.

“You can take me if you want,” Isaac mumbled as he sat Scott against the stone, placing himself between his beloved and the monstrous wolf. “But you will not touch him, even if it is the last thing I do!”

The bright red eyes of the wolf glowed eerily in the early morning light, an animal reflection of Isaac’s own blue and determined eyes. As the beast advanced, Isaac readied himself for the fight. He just needed to time his grappling well and hold on tight to the wolf’s neck. The wolf inched closer cautiously and, for a brief instant, the human sensed the wolf’s nuzzle twisting into a predatory, intelligent grin. As quickly as it came, the grin vanished. The wolf then jumped forward.

**Π Π * Π** **Π**

Three days later, Scott and Isaac were on a boat that peddled wares along the coast. They had managed to get to the old Roman harbour of Glevum, where they had secured passage between there and Demetia. Isaac could be imposing at times, but even more so when covered in a blood-soaked tunic.

Isaac was sitting at the bow, mindlessly looking at the coast in front of them. It had been almost ten years since he had been there. He almost did not notice Scott approaching from behind, and wrapping him in an extra cloak to protect him from the spraying surf.

“That’s it then?” Scott asked as he put his arms around Isaac’s waist. In the distance they could see the bright-red tiled roofs and the smoke that rose from the hearths of the houses of Moridunum.

“Yeah, that’s home,” He replied with a smile, his eyes still fixed on the town, which was only a few miles inland from the river mouth.

“Are you happy to be finally home?”

Isaac turned around to look at Scott, who was smiling at him. Their eyes involuntarily glowed yellow, as they did now whenever they were excited.

“I’m happy because you’re coming with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> On a historical note, this fic is set around AD 500, at a point when the Anglo-Saxons had not completely taken over England and the sub-Roman cities had formed separate kingdoms of their own. If anyone wants to know more about fifth- and sixth-century Britain, come and find me ont tumblr and I can bore you.
> 
> Also, even if I have labeled Isaac as a Briton and Scott as a Roman, these are just language markers (Brittonic or early Welsh and late Latin) as, in terms of identity, it is very likely that both saw themselves as Britons because they belonged to the urban world of the old Roman cities, regardless of their language. The Gewisse were a group of Saxons that would eventually become the ruling dynasty of Wessex.
> 
> I could have thrown oh so many things about pagan druids and Arthurian lore, but I needed to keep this short! Of course, there is a chance that this may turn into a longer story one day.
> 
> Glossary of place names (early Welsh/old English/Latin):  
> • Caerfaddon = Bath  
> • Celemion/Calleva = Silchester  
> • Côr y Cewri/Giant’s Ringdance = Stonehenge  
> • Dorcic/Dorceceaster = Dorchester-on-Thames  
> • Dyfed/Demetia = SW Wales  
> • Glevum = Gloucester  
> • Gwinntguic/Wintancaester/Venta = Winchester  
> • Iwerddon/Irland = Ireland  
> • Lundein = London  
> • Moriddyn/Moridunum = Carmarthen


End file.
